


number one with a bullet

by cherryvanilla



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-09
Updated: 2010-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-13 14:19:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Prohibition era AU with Fighter!Eames and Gangster!Arthur, based around <a href="http://tomhardyparty.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/warrior.jpg"><span class="u">these</span></a> <a href="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_la5zuvSUqn1qa3gdno1_500.jpg"><span class="u">two</span></a> pictures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	number one with a bullet

“We have to stop meeting this way,” Eames drawls dryly and saunters up to Arthur out of the darkness.

“I thought you were used to back alleys, Mr. Eames.”

“Your wit, as always, is devastating Arthur.” His eyes sparkle in the dim light of the buildings above them.

Arthur gives him a quick once over. He’s shirtless, his hands don white tape, and there’s a fresh gleam of seat on his chest. Arthur finds his eyes, once again, drawn to the tattoos that paint his skin. Arthur can’t imagine being so passionate about something to have it permanently etched into your flesh.

Shaking himself, Arthur clears his throat. “Just here to deliver payment for tomorrow fight.”

“Are you sure that’s the only reason you’re here?” Eames’ voice is husky and sends shivers down Arthur’s spine.

“This is what I get paid for,” he says, shortly.

“Mmm,” Eames considers, and moves in. “Then perhaps you could ask Cobb to consider last month’s blowjob a bonus.”

Arthur takes a step back and reaches an arm out in warning. “That never should have happened.” Arthur says, and hopes he sounds convincing. He’s been reciting the words in his head since bolting from Eames last month, his pants still down around his knees.

Eames ignores him and stalks forward until the backs of Arthur’s legs are hitting the brick of a building. Arthur vagely wonders if this was the exact spot Eames had him pressed against in September -- when he'd splayed his fingers across Arthur's chest and whispered, "you can have me, you know," and then sunk to his knees without preamble.

“You didn’t seem to mind so much then. I seem to recall your hands pulling at my hair.. you moaning my name while spilling into my mouth.”

Arthur suppresses a shiver of pleasure. “I think your memory of the event is somewhat revisionist, Mr. Eames. Regardless, there needn’t be any unnecessary distractions during our transactions.”

Eames shakes his head, mouth quirking into an amused curve. “I beg to differ. You are a _very_ necessary distraction to me, darling.” Eames tilts his head then and nips lightly at the side of Arthur’s neck, his forehead jutting against Arthur’s fedora.

Arthur stiffens. “Eames,” dropping the formality. “Please,” his tone is broken and pleading.

“Christ, Arthur, I’m not asking you to wear my ring.” Eames’ words are clipped and frustrated as though he’s asking just that very thing.

Arthur feels anger flare within him and he pushes Eames away, hard, trying not to relish the feel of the muscled bare skin against his palms.

“Don’t you understand?! If Cobb found out, he’d have one or both of us killed.”

Eames’ eyes flash. “And have you ever been on the receiving end of that order?”

“When the situation was deemed essential, yes,” Arthur responds simply, as if on automatic.

Eames nods, jaw tight. He tears his eyes from Arthur’s and leans back against the wall. “And if you were ordered to kill me, you’d do it,” Eames says flatly. It’s not a question.

“My job description doesn’t warrant me to ask questions.” All the same, his chest seizes at the thought.

“And just why is that, love?”

Arthur sighs and leans against brick next to Eames. He lifts a cigarette from the sterling case in his breast pocket and gives a sparing thought to his suit. He pauses and retrieves a second cigarette.

“What?” Arthur asks.

“Why is it your job?” Eames replies. Arthur lights Eames’ cigarette for him, and relishes in the feel of the other man’s fingers briefly closing around his wrist.

“The way you speak,” Eames continues, nodding his chin upwards. “You’re a touch upper class. It’s obvious you weren’t born into the life of a thug. So just why _are_ you in this rubbish business?”

Arthur briefly considers burning Eames’ cheek with his cigarette. “You’re hardly one to pass moral judgments, Mr. Eames. You’re so deep in your own gambling debts you’ve sold your integrity and, probably your soul, to the devil himself.”

Eames nods thoughtfully. “Then we’re two of a kind. Utterly fucked with no way out. Only difference, dear Arthur, is I’ve been a thief my whole life. You could have been on Madison Avenue somewhere.”

“Or throwing myself out of a Wall Street high-rise. At least I go home to a steady paycheck.”

Eames exhales loudly. “You’re an enigma.”

Arthur shrugs. They finish their cigarettes in silence, the earlier anger ebbing away.

“Let’s do this, shall we?” Arthur asks.

“Come inside? I’m starting to freeze.”

“Perhaps you should try wearing shirts,” Arthur mutters but follows all the same, knowing it’s a horrid idea.

Sure enough, Eames immediately pushes Arthur up against the cool steel door of the practice facility, his Fedora flying off and to the right. Arthur melts into him initially, mouth opening willingly under the insistent pressure of Eames’ lips. He vaguely realizes this is their first kiss. Groaning, he plunges fingers into Eames’ short hair, relishing in the silky feel of it. Eames growls deep in his throat and pins Arthur to the door with his hips, his tongue brutal and unforgiving, claiming the other man’s mouth.

Arthur breaks away, gasping. “We can’t.”

Eames nips at the corner of Arthur’s mouth and shifts backward slightly. He cups Arthur’s jaw, turning his face. Arthur can feel the roughness of the tape and the radiating heat beneath it. “Do you remember our first meeting? You walked through this same door with Cobb. My manager was slack-jawed and so was I, mind. But not because New York’s largest crime boss was in my dinky training center. It was more because the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen, in an equally devastating suit, was trailing behind. And he had no idea how incredible he looked, how present he was. He thought himself a shadow when he was anything but.”

Throughout Eames’ words, Arthur’s breathing grows sharp and stuttered, but he refuses his gaze to waver. By the time Eames has finished, Arthur nearly flinches from the honesty he finds there.

Eames’ fingers trail reverently along the underside of Arthur’s jaw. ‘That was nearly seven months ago, and I’m still gone for you,” Eames murmurs.

Arthur takes a breath. “You’re just angling for another blowjob.”

Eames laughs loudly. “You’re something else, Arthur Morris.”

Arthur shakes his head to himself and rests his forehead against Eames. “You’re gonna get me killed.”

“Do you really care?” Eames rubs his lips against Arthur’s. Arthur lets him in and the kiss is careful and measured.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Arthur says softly, when he breaks away. He’s too far gone.

“Then come home with me.”

Arthur nods; aware he’s probably signing his own death sentence. Eames throws on a shirt and takes him by the hand, steering Arthur out the door. Arthur pauses and extracts the envelope. “I feel like a whore,” Eames says, laughing ruefully and pocking the money.

“We both are,” Arthur reminds him, solemnly.

Eames takes Arthur’s face in his hands then, kissing him with pent up passion. “I’m going to make you stop thinking for the rest of the night,” Eames promises. And he almost does; gives it his best by spreading Arthur out on his makeshift mattress, taking him apart with first his hands and then his mouth. Eames fucks him from behind, their legs molding together, their fingers laced while Eames moves above him, making Arthur thrash and shake and cry out. Arthur thinks of nothing for a long while and then thinks of the stash of cash he has taped beneath his dresser (how it’s enough for two to start over somewhere) and his spare guns taped to the bottom of the mattress (he’s a pretty terrific shot) and realizes this might need to happen sooner rather than later. When Eames pulls Arthur against his bare chest and wraps his arm securely around Arthur’s frame, he can’t really say he cares.

[end]


End file.
